Not Without My Brother
by onemorehandmedown
Summary: AU - Dean wakes up in a world he doesn't belong to, where his mother is alive and his father never became a hunter. Meanwhile, Sam must contend with a version of Dean who is even more screwed up than the brother he knew. Full summary inside.
1. I Don't Think We're in Kansas Anymore

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing whatever to do with Supernatural. That would be Kripke and co.

Summary: AU - Dean wakes up in a world he doesn't belong to, where his mother is alive and his father never became a hunter. Meanwhile, Sam must contend with a version of Dean who is even more screwed up than the brother he knew. Dean fears for 'his' Sam and Sam, not used to being in the role of carer, longs for the return of 'his' Dean, if just so he can hang on to just one shred of sanity. But perhaps the swap is a blessing for their counterparts. Rated T for mild bad language and drug references.

A/N: This is a story that just won't leave me alone. I have a couple of chapters written already and thought I'd see what people thought of it. Enjoy :)

**  
I Don't Think We're in Kansas Anymore  
**

"What the…?"

It was obvious to Dean that he was in a hospital but the reason why he was there eluded him…and where the hell was Sam?

The last thing he remembered was being woken up by Sam at some ungodly hour and made to answer a string of questions to show he was all there, just in case he'd got a concussion when he was being thrown around Hill Road Cemetery earlier that night.

Dean couldn't help thinking it was just their luck to end up hunting a spirit who was haunting the place she'd been buried. He couldn't understand why Esther Morgan's family would want to bury her in the place she'd been murdered but that was really none of his concern. What was his concern was distracting the bad tempered ghost while his brother burned her bones. Much to his dismay she enjoyed throwing things, not to mention people, and was good at it. Dean didn't remember losing consciousness at all but he couldn't really argue when Sam said it was better to be safe than sorry, so he'd submitted to being woken every hour and asked stupid questions with a minimum of cursing and rude gestures.

How he got to the hospital and what he was doing there did not feature in his memory at all.

He heard the sound of approaching footsteps and a tall woman in a nurse's uniform stepped through the curtains surrounding him.

"Well hello Dean," She greeted him, as though they were old friends, "Nice to see you're back with us." She inserted a thermometer into his ear.

Dean said nothing, trying to work out if he should know her.

Apparently his temperature pleased the nurse, Cara according to her name tag, who smiled as she recorded the thermometer's reading on what was presumably his chart. Except…how did a hospital he probably had never visited before in his life have a file on him that was almost as thick as a crappy drugstore romance novel? Something just wasn't right and as Dean looked around he realised that there was no sign that Sam had ever been there. That scared him more than waking up in a hospital when he last remembered being in a crappy motel room. He opened his mouth to ask about his brother but closed it again almost immediately. He didn't know why he was there, didn't know what bullshit story Sam might have spun about why he was there and didn't know what aliases Sam might have used. Better to wait until he had a better grasp of what was going on.

"You know, we really should stop meeting like this. I mean this is what? The third time you've landed in here in as many weeks?"

It was all Dean could do to keep his complete and utter confusion from showing on his face. It had been over six months since he was last hospitalised and that was because he'd been bitten by a snake while poking around a poorly maintained rural cemetery and, strangely enough, his and Sam's first aid kit didn't include anti-venene. Dean was fast deciding that something supernatural was going on but for the life of him he couldn't think what.

Dean was still trying to come up with a reply that wouldn't make him sound stupid when he heard the sound of arguing from somewhere beyond his cubicle. He could make out at least three separate voices and the loudest was unmistakeably his father's. This only served to make Dean even more certain that he, in the words of Dorothy Gale, was not in Kansas anymore. After all, when Dean was dying after being electrocuted Sam had called Dad to tell him what was going on and the man hadn't even returned the call, much less rushed to Dean's bedside. If Sam hadn't found a way to save him he'd have had Buckley's of ever seeing his father again. The idea that Dad would be here now was absurd.

The nurse whistled. "Sounds like your daddy's already built up a fine head of steam. I hope you can keep a civil tongue in your head this time Dean, we don't really need a repeat of last time"

Dean could only assume that he and Dad must have had a monumental argument but it was hard for him to imagine – he'd always left that sort of thing to Sam.

The argument was getting closer. Suddenly the curtains at the foot of Dean's bed were flung back to reveal his father, a flustered looking female doctor and…his mother? She was much older than she was in Dean's memories of her and the few pictures he had and she looked somewhat sad but it was definitely her and Dean was torn between shock at seeing his mother again over twenty years after her death and terror at the utter fury that was written all over his father's face.

Terror won out. The look on his father's face was reminiscent of the expression he'd worn in his incandescent rage when Sam had announced he was leaving and Dean's body tensed as he unconsciously prepared to defend himself.

"I have had it with you Dean! You said you were going to stop this shit! You know you almost died tonight you took such a damn big overdose! I don't know what to do with you, how the hell am I supposed to sit here and watch you self destruct?"

Dean winced and fought the urge to cover his ears. Possibly there were some people in Australia who couldn't hear John Winchester's rant but it seemed unlikely. Dean wasn't entirely certain what his father was on about but with all he'd seen and heard since he woke he was starting to think that there were maybe a few grains of truth to the theories he'd heard about parallel universes and other realities. The only explanation for his current situation he could think of that made any kind of sense was that he'd somehow landed smack bang in the middle of one.

"I just don't understand how you can keep doing this! Do you even care that you're throwing your life away?"

The tirade continued and when it started to go around in circles Dean tuned out and considered what he had learned so far about this, for want of a better word, reality.

From his father's outburst Dean had gathered that he was in the hospital because he'd overdosed on something. He had also made some promises that he hadn't kept. It was blatantly obvious that Dad was royally pissed at him.

His mother was alive, that was the fact that stood out to him most. Did the demon that had killed her in the world Dean knew not exist here? Had it just not visited? However she had escaped dying in this reality, the fact remained she was alive and well and her presence alone was almost enough to make Dean ditch his plans to look for a way back. Almost being the operative word here. There was still the little matter of Sam.

So far no-one had mentioned Sam and as far as Dean could tell his brother wasn't here in person. Did he even exist in this reality? If he did exist here would he be anything like the version of Sam that Dean had left behind or would he be completely different? Assuming that Sam did exist here, and that he was at least a little bit like the brother Dean knew, his absence from the hospital was probably to be expected. More than likely he was away at college, and this time with Dad's blessing.

"John, stop it!"

Dean was jerked from his musings as a female voice cut through the racket his father was making. Looking up he realised it was his mother who was speaking. Irrationally, because having last seen her alive when he was four years old he was doing well to have any memory of her at all, it hurt Dean to realise that he didn't recognise his mother's voice. At her words his father fell silent.

"Dean, honey, when Dr Simmons says you can leave would you consider coming home with us so we can sit down and talk about this? Please?"

Dean looked from his mother, to his father and back again before speaking to another person for the first time since waking up to find the world standing on its head.

"Yeah, ok, if talking doesn't mean yelling." He paused for a moment. "As long as we're on the subject, when can I get out of here?"

"The naloxone the paramedics gave you should wear off in about twenty minutes. If you are still conscious and coherent when that happens I'll be happy to release you." Dr Simmons answered.

It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to ask what the hell naloxone was but he suspected from the matter of fact way the doctor talked about it that he was supposed to already know. He needed time to think and he also wanted to get his hands on the chart at the end of his bed – maybe it would shed some light on what was going on here.

John broke the silence. "I think I'll go get some coffee. Mary, do you want anything?"

"No thanks. I think I'll stay here with Dean." She turned to face her son. "If that's ok with you honey?"

Dean shrugged, unused to anyone actually asking if he wanted their company. "Sure, stay as long as you like."

"John, I'll come for a walk with you if that's ok. I think we need to have a little chat." Dr Simmons said. John scowled but left with her anyway.

His father gone, Dean let out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. Cara left, with a promise that she'd be back to check on him soon, leaving Dean and Mary in the little cubicle.

Mary dropped down on the edge of Dean's bed with a sigh.

"So, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." It was Dean's standard answer whenever anyone, in particular Sam, enquired after his health. In honesty he was tired and it appeared a brass band had taken up residence in his head but his mother didn't need to know that.

"You know your father doesn't mean half of what he just said. He's just worried about you."

"I know." It had been the same with the version of Dad Dean had known – any emotion other than happy usually came off as pissed.

An uncomfortable silence followed. To be lying there with his mother at his side was so surreal for Dean and he really didn't know what to say beyond answering her questions. When Mary began absently stroking his hair Dean leaned into her touch. He wanted to stay forever in this moment, basking in the glow of his mother's love, but what of Sam? Stronger than the yearning for his mother that had taken root in his heart when he lost her at the tender age of four were the ties that bound him to his little brother for better or worse, death may try to part us. He couldn't leave Sam to face the horror of their world alone.

***

"SONUVABITCH!"

Sam woke with a start at the sound of Dean's voice and leapt out of bed in a panic.

"What's wrong?" He fumbled for the light switch, finding it and flicking it to bathe the room in light.

Dean glared at Sam. "And here I thought you were the smart one." He rolled his eyes.

That made absolutely no sense to Sam and he said as much, which apparently did not impress Dean.

"Oh cut the crap Sam! This is something I would have expected of Dad, but not you! Where the hell are we and how the hell did you get your hands on naloxone?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "We're in the crappiest motel in Morphettville, Kansas. You dragged us here to get rid of a spirit who was attacking people paying their respects at Hill Road Cemetery. You know, the bitch that spent half of last night throwing you around."

"My God, you're crazier than I am! I suppose the Easter Bunny was there too was he? And the Tooth Fairy? Look, I know you don't approve of me, and you've only told me half a million times that I'm killing myself, but what gives you the right to abduct me, drag me to God knows where and then feed me bullshit when I ask where we are?"

If Sam had been in a cartoon his jaw would have been on the floor such was his shock at what Dean was saying. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. As he tried to think of something to say he realised Dean wasn't looking so hot. His face was covered with a thin sheen of sweat and he was shaking.

Dean groaned. "I think I'm gonna puke!"

Thankfully the bin in their room was metal, rather than the wicker variety. Sam grabbed it and shoved it in front of his brother just before Dean started retching. He was surprised that most of what came out was bile, knowing exactly what Dean had had for dinner before going to the cemetery. While Dean was incapable of speaking Sam took the opportunity to take a closer look at him.

The first thing Sam noticed was that Dean was far paler than he'd been just a few hours ago…but maybe that was because he was sick? His other observations couldn't be so easily explained away. For a start, Dean seemed to have lost a great deal of weight in the hour or so since Sam had last woken him. Not that Dean had ever been fat, but there was a distinct difference between the lean, muscular brother Sam had known and the weedy specimen he was looking at now. What was more worrying was that Dean's arms were covered in what appeared to be needle marks. Dean didn't have any great problem with needles but at the same time he didn't stick himself with them without good reason and Sam couldn't think of any good reason for all those marks. Not to mention that he knew for a fact that they hadn't been there when he was patching up Dean's left not five hours ago.

"What are you staring at?" Bringing up his toenails had not improved Dean's mood.

"I…" Sam trailed off. He didn't know what was going on but Dean obviously thought he did. Asking what his brother was sure to view as a dumb question would not be helpful. "Nothing."

"Liar."


	2. Stranger Things Have Happened?

Disclaimer: Same as for chapter one.

A/N: Wow, I had no idea I'd get such a big response to this story! Thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to read this and especially to those who reviewed for your kind comments - I really appreciate it :) Also, Noelani618 raised a good point about the timing of this story. For anyone else who was wondering it is set in the first season some time after "Faith".

**  
Stranger Things Have Happened?  
**

It is the lot of a hunter to find himself in many extraordinary and downright weird situations. But not even Dean could have imagined there would come a day when he was glad that he'd fallen into bed without bothering to get undressed properly. Now it was suddenly the difference between holding on to his dignity and walking through the hospital clad only in his boxers. There was, of course, the issue of footwear but while Dean would have much preferred his biker boots the manky runners left behind by his counterpart in this reality were better than nothing.

The drive home was mercifully quiet. Dean had half expected his father to resume his rant but that hadn't happened. He spent the ride home staring out the window into the darkness beyond and hoping that no-one would speak to him. They didn't.

A sign by the side of the road welcomed them to Lawrence. With a sinking feeling Dean realised that they really were going home. He allowed himself to hope that maybe they were living in a different house, although just being in the same town was enough to make him uneasy, but of course he wasn't that lucky.

The house fitted perfectly with Dean's recollections. Not those of the adult who had fought a poltergeist there not so long ago but the fuzzy ones of the terrified four year old who had fled an inferno. Stepping over the threshold he was filled with a sense of foreboding so strong that for a moment he thought he'd be sick. The memory of running through that doorway in the other direction with Sammy in his arms was so vivid he could almost feel the heat from the fire pressing on him and smell the smoke. With a leaden heart he followed his parents into the kitchen.

"Sit down." His father ordered, pointing at a chair.

Dean obeyed immediately. Messing with Dad was a bad idea at the best of times. Messing with him now would be suicide.

"You were doing so well Dean. What the hell possessed you to go back to that shit?"

Dean was tempted to ask 'what shit?' but he knew that would be a very bad idea.

"I don't know sir."

"Don't get smart with me boy!"

Smart? For a moment Dean was completely bewildered. Then it occurred to him that it was quite likely that in this reality he'd never called the old man sir in his life.

"John, keep your voice down!" Mary hissed, "If you're not careful you'll wake Sam and God knows he doesn't need to lose any more sleep."

Well, that answered two of Dean's questions. Obviously Sam did exist here and he was at home. He decided not to ask why his brother was sleep deprived – he suspected that he was supposed to know.

"Sorry. Look, can we talk in the morning? I'm tired and you must be exhausted – hell, it's the middle of the night." It probably wouldn't work but Dean felt he had to at least try to placate his father.

"Do I look stupid? We're going to talk now before you can bail."

"Fine." It wasn't really fine. Dean was no stranger to lying his way out of trouble but right now he had nothing to work with and was so tired that his imagination seemed to have deserted him. In fact his entire brain seemed to have shut up shop except for the part responsible for bombarding him with unpleasant memories.

"Well?"

Mary sighed and directed an exasperated look at her husband. "Again with the Spanish Inquisition? I thought we agreed that approach was a failure."

John ignored her and looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean sighed. "I don't know. Really. It doesn't make any sense to me either. But I could have died tonight and that scares me." He paused for effect. "Would it be ok if I stayed here for a while? I need to get myself sorted out and I'm not sure I can do it alone." He wasn't entirely sure what he was asking for help with and it went against every fibre of his being to admit fear, even if he hadn't meant a word of it, but if his suspicions about the situation were correct then this was probably what Dad wanted to hear and telling him what he wanted to hear was probably the quickest way to end the conversation.

"I really hope you mean that. Ok, you can stay here but if you even so much as think you're going to carry on your habit under my roof I will have no hesitation in kicking you out. And I'm going to lock you in your room tonight. I know it probably seems harsh, but surely you can see why I have a hard time trusting you?"

Dean nodded. "I understand. Now can I please go to bed? I'm knackered."

"I'm not all that keen on waiting for sunrise myself."

It was an effort not to run when Dean reached the top of the stairs and saw the door to what had been Sam's nursery. Even though it was closed he could see the fire and hear its hungry crackling. He could hear Dad screaming Mum's name and see her wreathed in flame upon the ceiling. He swallowed and wrenched his gaze from it.

Dad stopped outside the door to what had been Dean's room before the fire. It was a relief to find that he and Sam hadn't swapped over in this reality.

"Ok, get in. I'm going to lock the door behind you and you'd damn well better still be here in the morning."

"Don't worry, I will be." Dean muttered absently, looking around the completely unfamiliar bedroom.

He heard the door close and the click of the lock and it made him think of being in jail. When he was sure that his parents had gone to their room he approached the door to study it and came to the conclusion that it might as well not be there. The lock would be beyond easy to pick if it came to it.

Then he moved to the window. At a glance he could see that despite being upstairs it would not be difficult to get out that way either. Now all Dean needed was a weapon and he'd be on his way to feeling safe – or as safe as he ever felt given that he knew the sort of things that were out there in the world waiting to wreak havoc. A search of the room yielded a baseball bat and a pocket knife.

The search also turned up some more disturbing objects. Dean had found several hidden syringes and some empty baggies with a powdery residue inside. It was further confirmation of what he'd begun to suspect back at the hospital – the Dean of this reality was a drug addict. This only served to make Dean worry more for his Sam. Clearly the brother Sam was presumably stuck with would be completely incapable of protecting him and could even be a danger to him, even if not deliberately.

A soft mewling shook him from his reverie. Crossing to the window Dean saw a cat sitting on the outside sill and staring through the window at him with wide yellow eyes. He lifted the sash as quietly as he could and it ran into the room where it purred loudly and wove figure eights around his ankles. Of indeterminate breed, Dean fancied it looked as though it had been born white and had a tin of black paint tipped over it, resulting in the irregular black splodges over its coat. A red collar holding an identity tag in the shape of a fish encircled its neck. According to the fish the cat's name was Maggie and a quick check under the tail confirmed that it was female. Dean picked her up, still purring and carried her over to the bed where he sat down and stroked her. He had always liked animals – they didn't judge and you could tell them anything with no fear of having the men in white coats called on your ass, or the cops for that matter. Maggie worked her claws, kneading his thigh like it was a lump of bread dough, her presence such a comfort that he let her do it without complaint.

Finally Dean curled up on the bed clutching his new pocket knife, cat at his feet, and slipped into a troubled sleep.

***

Sam finished packing the duffels and went into the bathroom to check for any stray toiletries.

"What are you doing?"

Dean had stopped retching a short time ago and was sitting on the bed watching Sam with a kind of glazed detachment. Unfortunately his company hadn't got any more pleasant for lack of vomiting and Sam was now beyond irritated.

"I'm packing, what does it look like? We're going to Bobby's."

Bobby would know what to do. Even if he didn't, with all the books lying around his house there had to be a volume there somewhere that could shed some light on this bizarre situation. Sam hadn't even bothered with calling his father, completely disinterested in leaving yet another voicemail that would never get answered.

"Who's Bobby?"

"You'll just have to find out won't you?"

"What if I don't want to?"

"Stiff shit, you haven't got a choice."

"And how do you plan to make me?"

Normally that tone of voice from Dean would make Sam stop and think, but this wasn't the Dean that Sam had grown up with. Holy water had had no effect and touching him with a silver knife had elicited nothing more than mild annoyance so it seemed unlikely he was any kind of hell spawn. All Sam could be sure of was that this wasn't his brother and he was determined to find out what was going on. Besides, if it came down to it Sam was sure he could kick this Dean's ass to the moon and back.

Sam had barely opened his mouth to give a scathing reply when Dean suddenly collapsed.

Under any other circumstances this would have been cause for concern but right at that moment it was more like a blessing - Sam hadn't been looking forward to literally dragging Dean out kicking and screaming. A quick examination revealed that he was asleep rather than unconscious and he stirred briefly as Sam carried him out into the cold night air, muttering unintelligibly. Once Dean was in the car Sam cuffed his wrists and ankles. The Dean that Sam had known was an escape artist to rival Houdini and he felt it better to be safe than sorry.

Sam did one last sweep of the room and, satisfied that he had left nothing behind, loaded the duffels in the trunk and drove off.

They were just out of town when Dean came to.

"Ughh," He groaned, making as if to rub his head. It didn't take long for him to register that the reason this action was suddenly so difficult was because he was wearing handcuffs. "What the hell is with you Sam!?" He shook his cuffed hands in Sam's face.

"You've got them on your ankles as well. I don't trust you not to sneak off the moment I turn my back."

"Fantastic. My brother is a psycho. Do Mum and Dad know what you're up to?"

The question caught Sam off guard. Dean had mentioned Mum as if she was alive. It sounded as though, wherever he came from, he'd got to grow up with a mother.

"Uh no, they don't. They aren't going to either." _Because Mum died over twenty years ago and Dad never answers his phone, but you don't need to know that._

"You know, this is more or less abduction. I should call the cops on your ass."

"Trust me, that would be a really, really bad idea."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, I'm just stating a fact."

"You are such a dick."

"Very mature. Are you going to spend the entire trip complaining? Because I would hate to have to gag you."

"What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be in California at Stanford, becoming a lawyer and making Mum and Dad proud? Someone has to be the good son and it sure as hell isn't me."

Sam's heart almost seemed to seize in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. Making Mum and Dad proud? Sam had desperately wanted Dad to be proud of him but the only response he got to what he had thought was wonderful news was one of unbridled fury. He had no idea what Mum would have thought of his achievement. He thought Dean might have been proud of him but then Dean had always been proud of him. A sudden surge of loneliness hit him and he wished more than anything that his Dean was with him. He would know what to do with the sniping, drug addled wreck riding shotgun.

Sam couldn't say any of this out loud though.

"I thought I told you to shut up."

For a time Dean was silent, alternating between dozing and staring out the window. It couldn't last forever though. He grew steadily more agitated, fidgeting and wriggling in his seat until, as the pale light of dawn was creeping across the sky from the east, he spoke.

"Let me out."

"You're joking, right? I thought I'd made it pretty clear that you're not going anywhere."

"Let me out!"

"No."

"So help me God I will kill you if you don't let me out!" There was a distinct note of desperation in Dean's voice. Glancing at him Sam could see that he was shaking and that his face was shiny with sweat. He was sniffling like he had a bad cold and his breathing was ragged.

"And why exactly do you want out so bad?" Sam thought he already knew but a bit of confirmation wouldn't hurt.

"You know why! You damn well know why! I guess you've got some stupid idea that you're going to save me from myself, make me get clean or some shit, well I can't! I've been through this before and it hurts! It hurts so bad and I can't do it again, I just can't so let me out!"

"Oh you can and you will. I get that this hurts Dean, but try to understand that I want you alive and in one piece. Mostly alive, I could probably deal with you missing a limb or something. So do me a favour and stop complaining." It was difficult to be hard hearted when Dean was so obviously suffering but what else was he supposed to do? If Sam acknowledged the compassion he felt for Dean he would break.

"You've gone insane. You really have. You're crazy." He rubbed at his eyes, "Just let me out, please just let me out."

Crazy. Sam had lost count of the number of times he'd had that label thrown at him. If this was how the rest of the trip was going to be he might just be living up to it by the time they reached Bobby's.

* * *

Thanks for reading :)


	3. Broken Promise Land

Disclaimer: Still don't own them!

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this story and especially to those who have taken the time to review - I really appreciate seeing what you have to say! Sorry it has taken so long to get this chapter up - I've had relatives visiting and my workplace has morphed into a madhouse! I'll try to do better in future.

**Chapter 3 – Broken Promise Land**

Dean was lying on a rooftop. That was about the extent of what he knew about where he was. He didn't know what building the roof belonged to or where it was located – though presumably it wasn't in Siberia because surely the air wouldn't be so pleasantly warm if it was. Gentle sunlight caressed him and the scent of jasmine danced on the breeze. It was beautiful.

Then a boulder fell on his chest, knocking the wind out of him and piercing his skin with long thorns. Dean gasped for air and tried desperately to move it but to no avail.

He woke up panicked and breathless. All he could see were a pair of large yellow eyes.

Dean groaned and pushed the cat on to the bed beside him. "Sorry Mags, but I'm kinda partial to breathing."

Sitting up, Dean took in his surroundings. It seemed that, unfortunately, last night had not been one of his more vivid and outlandish dreams. In lieu of a working clock, the pale sunlight filtering through the window suggested that it was early morning. The bedroom door was still closed but he thought he could hear people moving around somewhere beyond.

Dean hadn't slept well. Being in a place that was beyond weird, even for him, had put Dean on high alert and even the tiniest sound had been enough to wake him. This was a problem because as well as the usual sounds made by a not so young house someone had been coughing on and off. He probably hadn't got more than fifteen minutes uninterrupted sleep. What made it worse was that it had been Sam doing the coughing. At least Dean was ninety nine percent sure it was and having spent so much time practically living in Sam's pocket Dean should know. It had taken all the will power he possessed not to pick the lock, run to Sam's side and try, however ineptly, to make him better. It didn't matter that it wasn't his Sam.

On top of all this was the sense of foreboding hanging over him. It was understandable perhaps, given that the last time Dean had slept in this room he'd been woken in the middle of the night to find his father in a panic, his mother dying, Sammy squalling and the house on fire. Every time he woke up he half expected to find the same scene or something equally dreadful.

Dean scrubbed a hand through his close cropped hair. He needed a convincing story ready just in case last night's interrogation recommenced. Normally that sort of thing wouldn't be a problem but then, normally Dean would know more about what was going on than the person he was lying to. In this case he barely knew anything and Dad knew almost everything, or thought he did. Obviously he was going to need to be as vague as possible to minimise the risk of Dad catching him out on some detail he didn't know. Above all he needed to keep Dad happy.

There was a rattling as someone unlocked the door and then Dad was there. Dean saw the look of surprise that crossed his face before he schooled his features into the familiar mask that Dean had seen his own father wear near constantly, as though it was a crime to have feelings. If he was honest Dean would have to admit that he was much the same.

"So you're still here. I hope this means you were being genuine last night."

"Of course I was." There really wasn't any point replying but Dean suspected that staying silent would be taken as an affront.

"Good. Let's go downstairs."

They were half way down the stairs when there was a scream. Forgetting his 'don't upset Dad' mantra, Dean sped down the stairs towards the source of the sound.

Mum was standing in the doorway of the downstairs bathroom. Inside, Sam held a kitchen knife to his wrist. Tears ran down his face as he apologised over and over again for what he was about to do.

"It's ok Mum," Dean told her quietly, "I'll handle it."

He walked into the room as Dad arrived in the doorway. He started to speak, to tell Dean to get out of there, but Mum shushed him. Dean was grateful – this was a delicate operation and he didn't need distractions.

"Sammy?"

Sam looked at him but didn't seem to really see him. Dean held out his hand for the knife.

"Give it."

Sam shook his head. "No."

Dean sighed. "I didn't want to have to do this." His left hand snaked out to grab Sam's wrist and he yanked the hand holding the knife well away from wrist Sam had been intending to slit. "Drop it or I'll make you drop it."

At first he thought Sam was going to refuse again but all of a sudden his hand went limp and the knife clattered to the floor. Dean kicked it away to make sure Sam wouldn't be picking it up again.

"Thank you." Dean let go Sam's arm and tentatively laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sam flinched at first but then began to lean into the touch. Before they knew it they were both on the ground, Sam's head against Dean's chest.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Dean spoke. "Sammy, you want to tell me what's so bad you were going to slit your wrists?"

Sam took a shuddering breath and glanced warily at their parents. Dean gestured at them to leave and they did, though very reluctantly.

Then Sam spoke. "Jess is gone, isn't that enough?" When Dean didn't reply he continued. "No-one will believe me if I tell them what really happened but they can tell I'm holding back and some of them even think I set the fire." He sniffled, "As if I would ever hurt her. I can't take it, I just don't want to…and I can't do what you do and just…drug myself beyond caring…tried drinking it all away…only works for so long then it's just worse…I'm tired Dean."

"Tell me, what did really happen?" _That yellow eyed bastard happened, I know it._

"Promise you won't call the little men in white coats on me?"

"Cross my heart."

Sam took a deep breath. "Ok, well, I saw…Jess was pinned to the ceiling…she burned on the ceiling…I know it sounds crazy, not to mention physically impossible, but that is what I saw."

"I believe you." _Because I saw it with my own eyes, just like I saw the same thing happen to Mum._

"What?" Sam's voice was thick with shock and amazement.

"You heard. I believe you."

"No, no you don't. You're just humouring me."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not humouring you. You said you saw Jess burn on the ceiling and I believe you. No-one should have to watch something like that." He paused for a minute, "You think you should have died too, don't you? You were there, you saw Jess taken from you and you don't understand how you could have got out alive. Am I right?" This was well and truly beyond being a chick flick moment, but for Sam Dean would go as far as painting his nails or holding a slumber party if he had to. God forbid that should ever be required but there was nothing Dean wouldn't do for his brother.

Dean watched closely as Sam processed his last statement. He didn't speak but the expression on his face was reply enough.

"I don't know why or how you survived but the fact is you did. What I do know is that you're hurting, even though I probably couldn't even begin to understand how much, that the fire wasn't your fault and that you shouldn't feel guilty for being alive. I also know that I love you and Mum and Dad love you and that I won't let you die, even if I have to march into death itself and pull you out. If you're feeling this bad I want you to tell me. I might not be able to change what happened but I can listen. Got that?"

"Got it," Sam said, with a watery smile. "You know…" He trailed off, staring at Dean as though seeing him for the first time. "Dean, what are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? I'm being an awesome big brother."

"But you were using again. Dad told you to stay away until you were sober. We kept getting calls from the hospital about overdoses…I was so scared I'd never see you again. I said such horrible, awful things to you the last time I saw you and I was terrified that you were going to die thinking I hated you and I don't Dean, I never could. I was angry and scared and I said things I never should have said and I'm sorry. I just can't believe you're here and Dad isn't trying to kill you, or at least throw you out."

"Trust me, he ranted plenty last night. I don't know what would have happened if Mum hadn't been there to keep him under control." It felt odd to talk about Mum like that when he'd lived for so long in a world where all that was left her was ashes and a few charred pieces of bone.

Sam opened his mouth to say something but was overcome by a fit of coughing. Dean frowned, now one hundred percent certain it was Sam who had been coughing all night.

"Are you sick dude?" Dean asked when Sam had got his breath back. "You were coughing all night."

"I didn't get burnt in the fire but I inhaled a lot of smoke. It permanently damaged my lungs. I'm ok, but I won't be running any marathons." He gave a wry smile. "I never wanted to be a marathon runner anyway."

It was irrational but Dean felt somewhat guilty about this. He couldn't help but think that it was because he hadn't been there in this reality to pull Sam out of the burning apartment that his brother had suffered lung damage.

"Do you think you're ready to come out of here and put Mum out of her misery?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Let's do it."

They both got up and Dean was about to start heading out when Sam pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"Any time Sammy."

***

"Sammy, why're you doing this?" Dean whined, "You said it yourself, the last time I saw you, I'm a hopeless case. Just let me go."

It had been thirteen hours since they'd left Morphettville and Sam was getting to the end of his tether. Dean had swung between whining, desperate pleading and belligerence but the message was always the same – 'let me go'. There had been occasional periods of silence but even then Dean's discomfort and distress was plain to see. Sam was tossing up whether to respond to this latest whine by telling him to shut up or just ignore it until he realised what Dean had just said.

Sam pulled over and turned to face his almost brother.

"You are not a hopeless case. Understand?" Sam told him, voice trembling with tiredness and emotion. "You can do this. And you don't have to do it alone. I'll be with you."

For a moment the only sound was the throbbing of the impala's engine. Then Dean gasped and clutched at his abdomen. He started gagging.

"Smmy…ick" Dean's words were garbled but his meaning was clear. Sam undid both their seatbelts and ran around to Dean's side of the car as quickly as he could. Much to Sam's relief he somehow managed to help Dean out of the car before he started vomiting.

Puke on the impala's upholstery was unlikely to go down very well with her owner when he returned.

When the retching subsided Dean fell back into Sam's arms, shaking violently. Sam held him close and Dean leaned in to the embrace.

"Hurts, Sammy." The words were the same but the tone had changed. At least for the moment, Dean had stopped fighting.

***

It was a relief to Sam when they finally reached Singer's Salvage. He guided the car up the long driveway and parked next to the house.

"We're here." He informed Dean, and got out of the car.

Dean made no move to do anything. Sam yanked open the passenger door, well past being patient.

"Are you going to get out of the car or do I have to make you?"

"Sam, you've cuffed my wrists and ankles. Even if I can manage to get out of the car without falling on my face I'm not going to get anywhere very quickly. Besides, it hurts to move."

"I don't care if it takes you a hundred years to make it to the house. And what do you mean, it hurts to move? It's not as if you've broken your legs or something."

"You really don't know what you're getting into, do you? FYI when you come off smack everything hurts like hell." Dean paused for a moment. "Sam, are you sure you want to be introducing your friends to me now? 'Cause you must have noticed that I'm not really very good company at the moment and it's going to get worse." His voice shook with the tremors that coursed through his body.

"Bobby is more than just a friend. Besides, he's put up with worse than this. Think Dad in a foul mood."

Dean groaned. "Does the man have any other mood?" He sighed. "No, don't answer that. He's probably perfectly happy when I'm not around."

Sam found this hard to imagine. In his experience Dean had been the golden boy and he'd been the one to always make Dad mad.

"He does love you, you know. He's probably just scared for you." It was a variation on what his Dean had often told him and Sam had always had trouble believing it but in this case he thought it was probably true.

Dean laughed bitterly. "You know I went back home a few months back? Yeah, I thought maybe they'd help me, since I'd done such a bang up job trying to quit on my own. That went down well. Mum wasn't there and Dad just went ballistic on my ass. 'What are you doing here! I thought I told you not to come back till you were sober! Rah, rah, rah!' He wouldn't even let me get a word in. He said things I wouldn't dare repeat. If I spoke like that to him he'd kill me."

"Well Bobby's not going to yell at you. He doesn't take any crap but he's a lot more even tempered than Dad has ever been. Anyway, back to my original question – are you going to get out?"

Dean sighed. "I s'pose so." He swung his legs around and slowly pulled his body into a standing position, wincing and cursing under his breath. Once he was up Sam slung an arm around his shoulders. Dean was shaking violently and Sam didn't want him to fall down.

Together, they made their way slowly to Bobby's house.

***

Sam had been unsure what kind of welcome he'd get from Bobby. The phone number he had for the old family friend was no longer working and he seemed to recall Dean telling him about some threats involving their father's ass and a great deal of buckshot. Apparently their father was the only person the threat and hostility had been directed at; after drinking from a flask of holy water to no effect Sam had been welcomed with open arms. Exhausted after driving for the better part of fifteen hours on approximately four hours sleep Sam had crashed out on the couch after explaining the situation, leaving Dean in Bobby's more than capable hands.

Twelve hours later, after a long but troubled sleep, the situation hadn't got any better.

"This is not good."

Had he been involved in a 'state the bleeding obvious' competition Bobby would have won hands down.

"Tell me something I don't know," Sam motioned in the direction of the stairs. Dean's cries could be heard coming from overhead.

"Sam, I'm talking about the bigger picture here. Now I don't know much about other realities and everything I do know is second hand, but one thing all the stories have in common is that a person can't survive for long outside their own reality. If we can't switch them back your brother and Mr Congeniality up there will both be dead within about six months, nine at the outside."

Sam paled. "So how do we swap them back?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "If I knew, don't you think I'd have told you? We're going to have to do a bit of research on that."

"Well, what do you know?"

"There are more theories about other realities than you can poke a stick at, it's ridiculous. We're going to have to hit the books, see which ones come up the most, which ones fit best with what happened. Then we might have more than a snowball's chance of putting things right. I've gone through my collection, pulled out the most likely looking books," He motioned at the heavily laden table to his left, "Take a seat and let's get cracking."

Hours passed at that table, the endless reading broken only by trips to get more coffee and to check on Dean. Day had turned to night and Sam had long lost track of the time when the screaming began. He dropped his current book and ran up the stairs like a bat out of hell.

When Sam reached the spare room he found Dean staring, stricken with anguish, at something only he could see and repeating the same words over and over again.

"Not Shell…no…no…not Shell…no…please, no…Shell…Kick…no…no…"

Sam tried to comfort him, tried to tell him that there was nothing there but Dean didn't even acknowledge his presence. He seemed to be caught entirely in some terrible moment that Sam knew nothing of.

How long this lasted Sam would never know, but it seemed like forever. Then Dean gasped and sank down on the bed shaking and breathing heavily. Sam sat down beside him and tentatively reached out to put his arms around his brother. Dean flinched at first, then accepted the touch, clinging to Sam like his life depended on it.

"Why do you put up with me Sammy?" The question was barely audible.

"Because I love you."

* * *

Thanks for reading!


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